


Jigsaw

by VixenDoesWriting



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bottom Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison, M/M, Secret Identity, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-27 15:17:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20048182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VixenDoesWriting/pseuds/VixenDoesWriting
Summary: Jack is a sentimental old man. He knows that he shouldn't be. That it's a sign of weakness, but the past haunts him. The past, as well as his former partner, Gabriel Reyes. Now, the Reaper. He's lost, conflicted, and somehow, he must find the strength to choose between his mission to save what's left of Overwatch and it's members, and the past that he can't hope to forget.





	1. Unfortunate Circumstances

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Long time no see. Sorry for being gone so long, some real life shit got me tangled up. I've come into a new fandom, so I'm playing around with some scenarios. Plus, I just got Scrivener! So I thought I could write at least a novella to contribute to the community. Beta read by the beautiful Moneera, and written by me. Come see me on Twitter!
> 
> https://twitter.com/VixenWrites
> 
> Also I'm looking for writing buddies! If you want early updates, and drabbles, come say hi! I'd love to hang out with you and exchange works.

_Reaper. What a dumb name,_ Jack figured as he unlatched his mask behind his head. His old body ached, tired, overexerted and scarred with years of conflict. _What had become of him? My friend?_ The word friend burned a foul taste on his tongue. Friends don’t bite the hands that feed them. Friends don’t violate everything you stand for, and sleep at night. Hatred smoldered deep in his chest, the kind of which he’d never felt before. He couldn’t stand even the idea of him. Then why did it still hurt? Even after he left, he couldn’t find the time in the whirlwind of emotions to even consider another partner. The loneliness pounded the inside of his chests, screaming for an outlet of some kind, an outlet he’s denied himself for so long. He could feel himself burning under his own skin. It was a feeling he’d learned to ignore, but now, after seeing that face once more…

“Fuck.” Jack hissed under his breath, shoving off his chest plate roughly in a fit of anger. He listened to it clatter loudly on the floor. Fuck this. Fuck Him. Fuck everything… Jack resolved to kill him as soon as possible. But for now… sleep. Nothing inside him had the strength to fight right now. It wasn’t a physical sensation, it was an emotional exhaustion that debilitated him in such an indescribable way. He took a few moments to remove the rest of his armor before crawling into the warm embrace of his blanket on his cheap mattress.

He hardly closed his eyes before images of violence scorched the back of his lids. He blinked back awake, and furrowed his brows. He rubbed his weather worn face, and sighed. He wasn’t going to get any sleep after what he just saw, and he knew it. He laid in the somber silence, left to his thoughts. Gabriel Reyes. He was a man with a smooth tongue and even smoother lips. His touch so sweet, yet strike so painful. He was a man that Jack knew like the back of his hand, and somehow, not at all. He was illusive at best, a terror at worst. He was an enigma that Jack just couldn’t place in the puzzle that was his heart.

Part of him missed Reyes. He missed him as a lover, yes, but he missed him most importantly as a friend. Where there was a crutch, a wordless dependence, now there was nothing. Where there was fierce love, there was even fiercer anger. He and Reyes never really talked, not beyond mindless banter and meaningless small talk. Even as the war hung heavy over their heads, they refused to buckle under the pressure. Was that why he knew so little? Was this preventable by a late night conversation over coffee and a few tears? Was it… Was it Jack’s fault?

There was a long, shocked silence. His thoughts pooled in a wordless intensity, bringing a cold sweat to Jack’s brow. He couldn’t do this. Not now. The past was dead. He shuffled and threw aside his blanket, padding into the kitchen. He pulled a bottle of water from his small fridge, and hoisted himself onto his counter, sipping off it while staring at the adjacent wall. It was filled with nothing. It was a space he’d used to hang pictures, sweet mementos of memories with Vincent. Vincent, what used to be the only pure and innocent thing in his life. Jack’s innocence died in the explosion in the Swiss Headquarters.

***

Jack had been searching for the cause of Overwatch’s downfall for years by now. He didn’t ask to be the head of it, he didn’t ask for the Talon raids or the media outburst. He wasn’t prepared to lead on such a global scale and he knew it, and it came back to bite him. Somehow, despite being a victim of circumstance, he felt a forceful, almost excruciating sense of responsibility for what happened.

He had gotten wind of a truck heading out of town the week after next carrying a discreet load of experimental weaponry. It seemed like a decent opportunity to get some answers. After all, this truck is going to have a massive target on his back by anyone with this information. By the fact that he was able to get this information as an outside source by buttering up a few officials, he knew that others could get it too.

He knew who was going to act, too. Talon. He tried not to harbor any real resentment towards them. No more than any other terrorist organization, gang or crime syndicate. However it almost seemed, to him, that they were one of the causes of the death of Overwatch. And that… just hurt. Though, he’d never truly admit it.

They’d only gotten stronger since the fall of Overwatch, and Jack had a sneaking suspicion why. Overwatch members had to be in there somewhere. Either enabling or… god forbid… even participating in these crimes. The thought made him sick. These people that he once trusted no longer being recognizable. He steadied himself. He couldn’t tell who or why exactly simply because he wasn’t exactly the greatest military mind in history. Not in the slightest. There was no way to entirely predict the information he needed to be entirely prepared. He knew if he was the strike commander, viewing the mission proposition, he would flat out deny it. It was too risky, and he knew it.

But it was his only option.

The evening burned way for a somber winter night. A light snow sprinkled onto the ground, decorating the picturesque city streets and making holographic signs flicker uncertainly. It wasn’t rush hour, by any means, but it was definitely still busy. Civilians in their hover cars perused the city streets. He could see couples, families. Men, women, children. To and from various places in this city.

Jack was wearing a trench coat to cover his very trademark armor. It’s not like he could dress down for the occasion. He needed his mask, his visor. Even his gun, strapped securely to his belt. He couldn’t even travel the rooftops, like in other countries because they too had cameras focused on them. So, of course, he had to settle for a large trench coat covering him. It blocked out the cold, and the stares from passerby.

He hovered idly on his bike, several inches off the floor. It was a red light. He’d been following this truck for the better half of two hours, and there had been no signs of conflict. He had to take several detours in order to avoid detection by the driver, already conspicuous as it were. It grated on his nerves, and he couldn’t help but be tense. He almost doubted they were going to act at all. Was this just one big mistake?

The light turned green, and he kicked off from his position, following the movement of cars going forward. Suddenly, he found himself unable to see. Everything went white, and he couldn’t hear anything over the ringing in his ears. Fuck. A flash bomb. He barely heard gunfire, civilian panic, children screaming. It felt distant, far away.

He somehow managed to leap off his bike before a shot detonated it’s fuel tank, setting it aflame. The black tarmac tore at his coat, shredding it easily. It managed to take most of the road burn instead of his delicate flesh. He shrugged it off, nothing more than scraps of fabric. The confusion whirled around him, and he struggled to find his footing in the situation.

He held his pulse rifle close to his chest, and waited for his vision to return. As the world came back into view, he ducked quickly as a bullet fired at his head. A black silhouette fired off in his direction, seeming to melt and manifest into the air in a way that gave Jack a headache. He wasn’t sure if it was a fault of his barely functioning vision, or because something was actually going on. Something about it felt rather familiar to him, but he didn’t have time to consider it while under active fire.

The bullets stopped for just long enough for Jack to pounce, leaping into action from behind an overturned car. He sprinted into the chaos in the direction of the figure, tackling it to the ground from behind. Jack tore the guns from his hand and threw them away. He held the man down, adrenaline pounding through his veins. Some sick part of him wanted to see exactly who he was about to kill. He tore off the hood and removed the mask on the man’s face.

He only got a brief look before he vanished into a haunting mist. He formed conclusions there that he never wanted to to ever have to form again. His stomach churned. There, under that mask, was a dead man. Gabriel Reyes. Jack’s friend. Jack’s lover. Now, Jack’s enemy. He felt his hands tremble in his gloves as he heard boots scrape behind him. He felt the barrel of a very familiar shotgun pressed against the back of his head.

“Gabriel…?” Jack’s voice sounded weak, an ugly, pitiful little thing that made shame rage in the back of his skull.

“What a welcome surprise…” Purred a deep, gravely voice. A voice that sounded so much like him, except worn from years of smoking and age. Part of him wanted to hug him, the other, scream at him. Why was he here? What could he possibly _want_ with Talon?

“How are you…? How are…” His words died in his throat. He didn’t know what to say, but he needed to say _something,_ even if it was just the obvious questions.

“We don’t have time for this, Reaper!” A voice shouted from Gabriel’s intercom, right beside his ear. He jerked his head, as if confirming something, before looking back at Jack.

“Reaper?” Jack spit out a questioning statement. Reaper? What kind of a name is Reaper? What happened to Reyes? What happened to _him?_ God, how could this have possibly gone so wrong? He stared at the ground, waiting for the shot. He was… hesitating. Was he? What's happening? He didn’t have time to speak again before he was struck over the head hard by the butt of Gabriel’s gun, causing everything to go black.


	2. Illusion of Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack, in his youth, was given one of two choices. Join the Soldier Enhancement Program, or be dishonorably discharged in the height of the Omnic Crisis. He paid for his military success with blood and terror in a way he could never hope to forget. He was given a week to contemplate, but the answer was evident the second the proposition left the mouth of his boss.
> 
> So he did what he was told.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof... So this is the newest segment. Not as long as last time, but there was not a lot to say this time. This is introducing a new subplot I have going. I didn't edit it as much as last chapter, but it's fine! I plan on uploading every Tuesday, but this is a special occasion, I figured. Enjoy.
> 
> Come be my writing buddy on Twitter!  
https://twitter.com/VixenWrites

_ A long, long time ago. _

Jack, in his youth, was given one of two choices. Join the Soldier Enhancement Program, or be dishonorably discharged in the height of the Omnic Crisis. He paid for his military success with blood and terror in a way he could never hope to forget. He was given a week to contemplate, but the answer was evident the second the proposition left the mouth of his boss.

So he did what he was told.

He stood at the mouth of the underground facility, a ragged, dusty duffel bag held close to his back. It was worn from years of farm work in the heart of the Indiana countryside, and beaten by months of military hardships that scorned his immature heroic ideals. By now, Jack Morrison didn’t know what he wanted out of the military. Though successful, he was run ragged by the perfection he desired of himself. What he knew for damn sure was that he didn’t want 

He didn’t join the military to become a juiced up monster he didn’t recognize. He joined to protect his family, his farm, his country. Granted, he knew this would help in some way, but was it really worth it? There was no reversing this decision, even if he wanted to. Hero, he may not be, but he definitely wasn’t stupid.

Around him was the burning desert, the sun mercilessly scorching his bare flesh in a way he knew he would pay for later. He scanned the beige nothingness that permeated the landscape for any sign of transport, helicopter, envoy, jeep, anything. Nothing. They’d unfortunately arrived early by a good hour. The other new recruit into the SEP program was arriving any second. He looked to his driver. He was a burly, hairy looking guy with weather battered skin and amused eyes, staring right back at him.

“Do you need anything?” Jack asked off instinct, bristling under his gaze.

“No, but I’m sure you will.” The driver said with a small chuckle at what appeared to be an inside joke. Jack found this both unnerving and rather annoying. What was this guy's deal? Who does he think he is? But he pondered this for a second, eyes scanning the strange man. He had a million questions at the vague statement, and none of them using nice words.

“What do you mean?” He asked. The man looked him over, as if considering him for a short time, and weighing his options. Clearly, not a lot of people said anything in return to his antics.

“You'll have fun.” He said simply, digging in his pockets for a cigarette. Jack could hear the sarcasm in his tone. Jack paused. He hadn’t considered it, actually. How long was he going to be here? He thought it was just going to be a week, maybe two. An injection, a few workouts at most. What were they going to do to them? Fear crawled into his throat, squeezing the air from his chest. God, he didn’t want this. Why couldn’t they have chosen someone else? There were other people in his unit who were also qualified, not just him… Damn it all to hell.

His mind whirled in a fury of thoughts and worries, and he lost track of time. Before he knew it, a small military vehicle pulled up beside him. Out came another rather sizable man, who seemed to have a much more cheerful disposition. The other driver of the other recruit. Jack felt a bit of tension release when he saw a face that wasn't looking at him like a slab of meat on the chopping block. As if he wasn't going to hate this.

“Hey, you survived, newbie!” The second driver proclaimed, clapping Jack painfully hard on the back. He looked up quickly. “Rumor has it your driver is a real piece of work.”

Jack chuckled nervously. “Yeah, something like that.” He said. What an understatement.

“Where’s your recruit?” Jack’s driver inquired as he took a long drag off his cigarette. It interrupted the other man’s chummy, overbearing behavior towards Jack.

“Yeah, you’re right.” He said, looking back at his vehicle. He darted over and opened the door, and inside was a rather ill looking Hispanic man. “You okay?”

“… peachy.” The recruit muttered, looking an inch from vomiting all over his escort and holding up a weak thumbs-up gesture. Jack couldn’t help but chuckle at the display. Motion sickness? Really? It wasn't something he'd expected from a supposed soldier of respectable rank. He'd been told his other recruit was pretty high up guy from California.

As the recruit was being helped out of the car, the vault door to the underground facility hissed open with a cold, mechanical whir. Jack felt something drop in his stomach, and his breath freeze in his chest. This was it, huh? The beginning of the end of his normal life? A sensation of regret, commitment anxiety and frustration flooded him all at once, and his feet felt frozen in place. 

“Morrison?” A voice called. He looked up to see that everyone had gone inside. In front of the door stood a sleekly dressed man. He wasn’t in a soldier’s uniform, nor a medical getup. Instead he was in a blue suit. Chilled lab air breathed a shiver down Jack’s spine. “Let’s go.”

Jack nodded quickly, and ducked inside.

* * *

Jack woke to the sound of footsteps. His sleep was light, anyway. He listened idly, unsure if the steps were outside his apartment or inside. He wasn’t sure if it was his soldier brain playing tricks or if there was something to be worried about. He didn’t feel anything off… Not yet. He’s been woken before from the sounds of people walking in the hallway outside. It was a fairly common occurrence, usually followed by the sound of speaking or laughter of the civilians outside. Silence. It perplexed him. Maybe they were trying to be quiet for other tenants? He couldn’t quite make it out.

He came to a solid conclusion only when he heard his bedroom doorknob twist.

He fell out of bed, ducking underneath just as gunfire erupted into the closed space. Somehow, they hadn’t spotted him, only his movement. He cussed to himself, eyes scanning around for a way out. Adrenaline pounded into his veins, and his his muscles tensed. Feet rushed into the room. One pair, two, three, four. He lost count quickly. From what he heard, they all held automatic rifles of some variety. Traditional, for sure. Not pulse, laser, sonic… His brain scrambled for a solution as they searched for him.

He spotted his terrace, hanging over the city streets. His brows furrowed lightly, and his eyes focused. He had no other options. He steeled himself to leave the safety of his hiding spot. He knew he would take a bullet or two. He leveled his breathing, clenched and unclenched his fists, cleared his thoughts. It was going to be no different than the Omnic crisis. God, he hasn’t been in a situation like this in a long time.

He darted out from under his bed. He sensed what felt like a thud against his skin, as if he got punched. He knew the feeling well. He knew his brain was shielding him from what was happening to his body, through adrenaline and whatever fucked up chemicals were going through his veins. He stormed through the door to the overhang, and looked around. There was no ladder system between apartments, no ledges to leap onto, not even his enhancements can protect him from this. He had no real exits. Not unless he…

He got on the railing, his bare feet shuddering at the balance on the thin metal. Bullets whizzed by his head, and he stared at the three story drop. He steeled himself, held his breath, and he let himself fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like there's a song that matches Gabriel Reyes' idea of Jack, after being gone for several years. (In his place, the Reaper). So I figured I'd share it. I have a playlist of them, so maybe I'll post a few theme songs?
> 
> Proud of you - 10 Years. The idea of Gabriel, on the edge of consciousness, trying to comfort Jack just hurts my heart in the best way. I'm also going to treat Reaper as a second personality, because I have DIssociative Identity Disorder, and it makes me feel somewhat normal. Why not, after all?


End file.
